Children of Albion
by riveriver
Summary: Merlin returns to the only place he's thought of as home in twelve years. (Book 2. Incomplete. Staggered updates.)
1. I

"There is a kind of magicness about going far away and then coming back all changed."

 **Kate Douglas Wiggin**

* * *

Merlin has an undeniable feeling of _home_ fluttering in his stomach, and he can't contain the grin on his face as he follows the bustling crowds through the gates. Camelot is not as big as he remembers, but it is still as impressive and beautiful, full to the brim with traders, villagers and sentries who are beginning their day. They all stop to look twice at the one who dodges their shields, ducks under their freshly cut wood and pushes past their carts, rolling their eyes at his absent grace with which he passes. Some look strangely at the smile which seems etched permanently into his face because they don't understand his joy, and they know not of the sense of pure _belonging_ in which he now revels.

His hands clutch the straps of his backpack, his knuckles white as he excitedly hurries from the lower city and deeper into the citadel. He walks the streets where he helped run errands as a boy and watched people receive the remedies they needed for their illnesses, familiarising himself once more with the tavern and the blacksmith's workshop and the stalls. There are more people in this part, people who know the market, people who can point him in the right direction (although he has a funny feeling that he might not need much help at all; he particularly remembers the courtyards and the way the stairs of the castle twist and sometimes lead nowhere, and he remembers the halls which can bring you somewhere you weren't meant to be if you didn't pay enough attention). The people here are in a hurry and pay him less mind than before, their voices louder and alarming.

Something is happening, something which allows so many people to pass the usually always stoic guards into a huge courtyard. The people line themselves haphazardly on either side of a makeshift podium staged in the middle, where upon a large block of wood has been placed, and suddenly Merlin is aware of the banging of the drums which have been demanding attention on this side of the castle. The sound cuts the crisp morning air as it summons its audience, calling and rallying...

The excitement which has been consuming him fades as guards drag in a pale, beaten man, who looks as if he has been stripped of all he has. The man looks around with wild, desperate eyes, before he understands with sudden clarity underneath his bruises and bloodied nose where it is he is being taken, and it is also Merlin who understands what he has been blindly following the crowds to witness. His father had warned him of this, unable to hide his fear that his son might one day become the prisoner being pulled to the stand.

As Merlin stands on his tiptoes, unable to push his way further into the crowd to get a better look, he remembers Balinor looking slightly forlorn as he walked towards a new life, though Merlin only sees it as returning to his old life. This is the only place where he has ever felt as much at home as he did in Ealdor with his mother and Will.

The drums cease and a voice calls from above.

"Let this serve as a lesson to all—this man, Thomas James Collins, is adjudged guilty of conspiring to use enchantments and magic, and pursuant to the laws of Camelot, I, Uther Pendragon, have decreed that such practices are banned on penalty of death." The King rests a gloved hand on the front of the balcony, as if stretching an arm to his people. It is an exaggerated movement full of purpose. "I pride myself as a fair and just king, but for the crime of sorcery there is but one sentence I can pass."

Uther raises his hand from the balcony and dips his head, and Merlin's eyes snap back to where Thomas James Collins kneels. His head is now forced atop the block and his eyes are closed, yet he looks ready to face his fate. He does not struggle. He does not cry out.

No man should have to prepare for their head to be severed from himself, Merlin thinks, and he can't contain the rage bubbling in his stomach no more than he can help the magic which runs through his veins and keeps him alive, because magic is Merlin and Merlin is magic. He cannot stop himself. Before the executioner can lift his arms in response to the King, the bonds that tie Thomas James Collins' wrists fall in a heap over the back of his feet and Merlin sees the jerk of the man's head. He hopes that Thomas has a mind to move quickly.

The drums once more call for action. The executioner raises his arms high, and Thomas closes his eyes again as Uther lowers his arm, a wordless command.

Merlin lets go.

The axe drops to the floor with a heavy thud, bringing the masked executioner down with it. Merlin had wanted to turn it to stone, but the spell is more complicated and timely than that of one of simple weight, even if Merlin does not have to speak the words.

His eyes are blazing a fierce gold from behind the woman who is acting as his shield. He is not stupid. He knows how easily he could join the sentenced man on top of the block.

Thomas James Collins looks up at the commotion, and Merlin sends one word his way.

' _Move_.'

Stone begins falling from the balcony where Uther stands overlooking them, and the man stumbles. It may be the King, but Merlin is sickened at the thought of causing somebody to die and he makes the balcony shudder against the castle only once more just before the King's knights begin ushering him inside to safety. Only once the balcony clears and the crowds below have escaped harm, Merlin detaches it from the side of the castle completely. There is an almighty tremor of both ground and air as dust fills the courtyard.

The crowd has been yelling and screaming since the executioner toppled backwards and cried when his shoulder dislocated. They scramble closer together in their hurry, trying to get away from rolling concrete, and Merlin goes with them. He is wary to not be found looking in amazement at the destruction he has caused.

When the courtyard is empty and the dust has settled, both Thomas James Collins and Merlin have vanished.


	2. II

"Did you see the way his arm twisted and blackened as he dropped the axe! The King—"

"Did you hear the strange words the sorcerer shouted when he—"

"Like another language, I know!"

"My Harold's apprentice said he saw this blinding light coming from underneath the sorcerer's hood as he made his enchantment. He said—"

Merlin hasn't truly spent time with anyone other than his father for over a year, but he has not forgotten the ability of villagers and traders to spread false whispers quicker than King Uther was pushed back into his castle. Nonetheless, there is much which can be learned from even hearsay and so he wanders the awakening market a while and listens. He senses the ripple of fear travelling faster than a forest fire, but knows despite what they believe they have seen and heard that they are all sure the perpetrator has vanished with the morning wind. There is a heavy presence of sentries who steadily fill the streets, taking precautions at the order of their captains and letting the people of Camelot know that their home is safe while patrols are undertaken and posts are manned.

Merlin dawdles around the outskirts of the citadel, close to the castle so he doesn't lose his way in the crowds but far enough that nobody could possibly be suspicious of him. He isn't as familiar with these backstreets as he is the halls and training fields he used to run through as a child, and he wistfully maps out the grounds of the castle in his head, getting lost in the depths of his memories as he walks aimlessly. He remembers sitting on the grass and watching the knights train until it was so dark the men could only see the glint of each other's swords, and he remembers sprinting down corridors to the kitchens for snacks and sneaking into secret dungeons where guarded magical instruments were locked up. He wonders how much of this he could get away with these days and laughs to himself.

"What kind of physician are you!" a deep voice shouts. It brings Merlin out of his reverie, and with a new type of excitement growing inside of him he drifts towards the direction in which the heads of the people nearby turn.

Merlin has not seen Gaius since he was six years old, but many times during his absence from Camelot he has thought about how he would instantly recognise his friend despite so many years passing the both of them by. He is pleased to find that he does. Although the man's hair is whiter and there are a few more lines which frame his eyes, Merlin's face splits into an enormous grin as he hurries towards him.

"You're as healthy as I could expect you to be, sir," Gaius is saying to the man the deep tones belong to. He sounds as if he is losing his patience. "Please stop wasting my time so that I might tend to others who may truly need my assistance."

"But I've been burnt!" the man cries, shaking his arm.

Many people are watching the scene unfold but otherwise keep themselves from getting involved. Merlin thinks there might be a few who are perhaps hoping to hear something new about the events in the courtyard, so that they can whisper with new strength and be responsible for great stories.

Gaius begins packing his supply bag. "I have offered to wrap your arm for you."

"The sorcerer burnt my arm, look! His eyes were as red as the fire he created!"

"There was no fire," Gaius says through his teeth as he closes his bag with a loud _snap_. He ignores the way the other man shakes his arm in front of his face and the way the people of Camelot crane their necks to see the evidence.

"You saw the sorcerer?" Merlin asks as he approaches, his eyes full of the right amount of concern and fear. "Don't you think you should tell the King? I'm sure he would want to—"

"N-no," he says. "The King would not grant an audience with someone like me."

"I'm sure he would if you've got such important information to tell him."

"What do you know about an audience with the King?" the man asks hotly.

"Likely not much," Gaius says. "But I do. I am the court physician and I know that King Uther would want to be the first to be told about what you know."

The man hastily rolls down his sleeve, covering an injury which Merlin suspects is several days old rather than mere hours. "Uther does not care about his people," he spits, and he hurries away.

Gaius picks up his bag. "Thank you for that," he says as he finally looks up to meet Merlin's eyes. He stares intently for longer than is strictly polite, and Merlin is all but bouncing on his feet before the old man recovers himself. "I'm afraid a lot of people here are trying to seize some sort of an opportunity."

Merlin clears his throat and shrugs as nonchalantly as he can. "He was shouting at you," he says simply. "Were many people injured?"

Gaius shakes his head. "It doesn't seem so. It is very peculiar." He pauses and regards Merlin for a moment. "After checking with the King I hurried out to offer my help, but there is nobody who needs it. I think I should return to my chambers just in case somebody is waiting for me there."

A palpable sense of relief washes over Merlin and his breath comes out in a rush. "That's good."

Gaius straightens himself. "Thank you again," he says. Then he leaves.

Merlin opens his mouth. He's suddenly struck with nerves and finds he can't move his feet as he watches his friend walk away.

But Gaius turns back, his eyes twinkling. He knows. _He knows_. "Are you not coming, Merlin?"

Merlin's face splits into another grin. " _Gaius_! I thought you didn't recognise me!"

"How could I not?" Gaius asks with his own wide smile, and then he is laughing as he drops his bag and he and Merlin hurry over to each other. They are both laughing as their arms wrap around each other. "How you've grown!" Gaius marvels as they pull back.

"Everything seems a lot smaller," Merlin agrees, "but you are the same! I've missed you."

"As I have missed you." Gaius's eyes are shining with tears. "You should have told me you were coming, my boy."

"I wanted to surprise you," Merlin says as he hurriedly wipes his own eyes with his sleeve.

"You have always been destined to give me a heart attack, Merlin," Gaius tells him seriously as he clasps the boy's shoulder. "Come on! I want to hear all of your adventures. I have had far less of my own than I would have liked since you left."

"It's all been a bit boring, really," Merlin lies as he picks up Gaius's bag, and they laugh again.

Merlin's cheeks ache and Gaius is still trying to believe that he is real as they walk through the courtyard together. He keeps his hand on the boy's shoulder as if to make sure, though he is not fond of having to reach upwards these days. He can practically feel Merlin buzzing with excitement.

There are more people around now that the rubble has settled, though it is mostly only Camelot's knights around them. Merlin recognises some of them as the ones who were on the balcony with Uther and ushered him to safety. They are pretending to investigate the debris underneath where the King's balcony used to be and, Merlin thinks, doing a poor job of looking interested. He wonders what they're hoping to achieve from anxiously kicking at the rubble with the tips of their polished boots. One tall knight he notices whose dirty blonde hair rests on his shoulders looks like he's expecting the destruction to explode further.

"Magic," the knight whispers in a dark tone, and the others standing close enough to hear gape at him in their alarm.

"Wouldn't suggest it to the King though would you, Leon?"

"Would you, Geraint?" the other challenges. "What do you think, Gaius?" he asks as he notices the physician passing.

Gaius looks at Merlin before he answers. "I am sure Uther will make no secret of hunting down a sorcerer." Merlin's gulp is audible. "Although I believe there may have been more than one. One could not possibly have caused such devastation as this as well as aiding the prisoner to escape."

The knights murmur amongst themselves.

"We should tell Arthur," Leon eventually says. Merlin's heart skips a beat at the name of the Crown Prince.

"Too scared to tell the King, still?" the one named Geraint teases.

Gaius sighs very loudly at the men as if he has had a lot of practice, and he hurries Merlin along. After they climb the steps to the castle and they are walking through the doors the old man pats Merlin's arm with his free hand.

"It has been awfully quiet around here without you, my boy."

"Sorry about the mess."

"What you did was extremely dangerous," Gaius says sternly, but then he sighs. "I suppose I should get used to you doing extraordinary things."


	3. III

Merlin realises quickly after entering the castle that it is not old age which makes Gaius walk painfully slowly along its corridors. Gaius is giving him the gift of being able drink in the stone statues on the end of the hallways he hasn't seen for twelve years, and he is allowing Merlin to soak up the sounds which are echoing around them. Gaius is being the man Merlin remembers; he is kind and patient, thoughtful and understanding, and he is giving Merlin the freedom to once again familiarise himself with the only home he has ever known since his mother died. Merlin is especially thankful his companion doesn't say anything when he once more hurriedly wipes at his eyes with his baggy sleeve, nor when he is caught staring openly at the knights who pass by. Their red capes billow behind them as the hilts of their swords glisten at their hips, and Merlin's eyes shine with glee now rather than tears. He is close.

Gaius knows that Merlin is looking for Arthur, and that Merlin is hoping that when the time comes he will recognise the Prince as easily as he had recognised Gaius in the street.

"You'll see him soon enough, I'm sure, Merlin."

"Do you think he'll remember me?"

Gaius laughs as Merlin worriedly glances back over his shoulder at the knights walking away. "As clearly as I remember him barricading you both in his room so that you wouldn't leave him."

Merlin remembers Uther's rage once he had realised what his son had done in his protest. The King had ultimately given his seven-year-old son his wish and had kept him locked in his room, but in doing so he had sent six-year-old Merlin back to Gaius to pack his bags. It had been the last time the two boys had seen each other.

"It will be fine," Gaius says gently. "But I think that last knight may have wondered whether I have decided to take the village idiot under my care. You look like a fish out of water."

Merlin pulls a face at him but is otherwise silent. He agrees that he is out of his depth, having walked into his past at the will of the Druids, but he has always loved the castle and its secrets, and he had been all too eager to return to his former life even though he had understood that he might not be able to slot so easily back into it.

"Will you remember the way? The castle can be unforgiving to newcomers."

"I haven't forgotten, Gaius!" Merlin says happily with his feet skipping lightly as he turns right at the end of the hall, and he doesn't see Gaius smile and shake his head as the old man turns left.

"This way, Merlin," Gaius calls, "unless you're planning to sleep in the dungeons."

Merlin nearly trips as he changes his direction. He remembers his first visit to the dungeons as a child and his magic remembers, too. It rises to the surface, protesting wildly, and Merlin is fighting an inside battle as he tries to forget and push it back down. Merlin has not recalled such things for nearly seven years; he'd left it all behind after the Druids had apologised for what the pretenders had done to him as a child, from atrocities his father had valiantly saved him from.

It only takes a minute to settle the roar of his magic, and by then Merlin and Gaius have descended the short but familiar spiralling stone staircase and they find themselves where his life truly began all those years ago.

"Here we are," Gaius announces unnecessarily. The way the man's shoulders drop is visible as he walks through his door, but for Merlin it is the first time he's felt unsure with Gaius since finding him. The old physician's rooms feel like home, and the feeling is somehow stronger than that of the sense of belonging he'd felt while walking through the city's gates, but Merlin knows that sometimes coming home doesn't always mean happiness is waiting for you there.

Merlin's home in Camelot is shared. These chambers are where all people come to find solace, shelter, and sometimes pandemonium and heartbreak. There are people who have been cured here, sought advice here, and sometimes they've just come for somebody to talk to. Others have cried here, died here. . . This place holds memories for a lot of people in Camelot, and for Merlin these chambers are his whole childhood despite only having lived here for a few all too short months. Here was where his mother died, where he found Arthur, two fathers, and a home.

It is memories like these which have been waiting to welcome Merlin home, memories which he hasn't thought of for many years—not even when he was in the depths of the Forest of Merendra with Balinor learning what it meant to simply _be_.

Merlin wanders around as if making friends with the pages of open books which are placed haphazardly over the tables, much in the same way he remembers they were the day he left. Gaius never had a tidy table even then, never allowing his books to close in case they were to reveal something to him when he wasn't quite looking for it.

"The problem with old age," Gaius huffs into the silence, "is not that I can't remember what I did under Uther's nose twenty years ago, it's that I have trouble remembering what I was doing _five_ minutes ago." The old man shuffles over to his table, his eyes searching for clues, and he's muttering strangely to himself as Merlin reaches the steps to his old room.

After a minute of struggling to put his foot forward, Merlin finds he doesn't want to look behind the closed door just yet and he turns back to Gaius. His pack bumps heavily against his back with quick movement. The thought of being in his old room feels strange, as if there is something inside which Merlin left behind all those years ago and has forgotten about, something which Gaius closed the door on and hasn't let out since.

Gaius peers around of a piece of parchment he is holding up to the windows, through which the morning light shines. He hums tonelessly as he considers Merlin. "We're going to have to find something you can do to keep you out of trouble," he says, and Merlin cannot help but feel slightly indignant. "I need hardly tell you that if you aren't careful with your magic you will get yourself killed." He lowers his arms and shuffles back to his tables.

"I like trouble," Merlin replies quietly, remembering the headaches he often gave Aglain.

"I remember," Gaius says to his book after a pause. "That is, if you are staying?" he asks over his shoulder, almost like an afterthought, and suddenly the old man looks as uncertain as Merlin feels. "Or did you just come back to save that poor man's life and put the fear of the Gods into the King?"

Merlin rolls his eyes. "I'm staying," he replies firmly, because there's something about destiny and duty which all but forbids him from being anywhere else, and this is the only place Merlin wants to be, even if he is being forced to keep the core of his existence a secret under pain of death.

"I'm glad to hear it. Put your bag down, then."

Merlin grins sheepishly and shrugs himself free of his pack, dropping it at the bottom of the stairs before he meets Gaius at the tables, who is once again peering over his huge books.

"So. What are your plans to keep me out of trouble?"

"You, my boy, are going to be my new apprentice." The man begins quickly writing a short list, his scrawl messy and undecipherable to Merlin. The boy tries to suppress a tired groan. "I need these supplies," Gaius says, and he hands the stained parchment to Merlin.

"I thought you said you wanted to hear about what I've been up to!"

"And I still do, but now you're going to be staying you can make yourself useful first."

"But I can't read _this_."

The old man's eyes shine brilliantly, youthful and mischievous. "I suppose it will keep you busy for the rest of the morning, then."


	4. IV

"I _think_ it says clary sage." Merlin holds the parchment to the light and turns it slightly, as if there is a hidden message between the ink that he will be able to better see with narrowed eyes. "Or maybe it's chamomile?"

The red-haired woman he has come to looks at him strangely, albeit with a little annoyance. "Clary sage or chamomile," she repeats slowly.

"I don't know. Can you read this?" Merlin offers her his list from Gaius.

She looks offended by what she sees. "Who has given you this? A child?"

Merlin wants to tell her no, although he does think Gaius is being very childish indeed. He drops his hand in defeat. "I'll just take both, please."

He spends the next hour much in the same way, trying to figure out whether he's reading mugwort or myrrh, or calamus or cinnamon and slowly filling up his bag. He visits the red-haired woman twice more, and she asks whether he is a poor simpleton or merely and very deliberately making a pest of himself. She threatens to call the soldier over who is standing on the corner of the street, and he doesn't go back again. His father's warnings had also come with instructions to not bring unnecessary attention to himself, though Merlin knows his father was thinking more along the lines of causing destruction in courtyards rather than annoying traders.

The coins which Gaius has given him to purchase his required items are running low, because he's been left absolutely clueless and he has settled with his solution of purchasing one of each of the things which seem most likely after much guesswork. Merlin isn't sure how Gaius thinks this is going to keep him busy for only the rest of the day, because he's not going to be returning until next year at this rate. There are people who now also pointedly avert their eyes when he is nearby, because they do not want to give him the impression that he is welcome to speak with them. He has either annoyed them, or they have been quietly warned by a neighbour when he is near and so he dawdles for a long time without approaching anybody, head bent over his parchment while he studies it and mutters to himself.

He wonders whether Gaius is standing at his table and chuckling into his books until he has to take a chair.

"Hello," someone says gently, coming to the side of him. His head snaps up and he notes the concerned look on the stranger's face. "I'm Guinevere. Most people call me Gwen… I'm Lady Morgana's maid."

"Oh," he says, because maybe he should be wondering how exactly it is that the Lady Morgana's maid can help him but instead he is remembering the dark-haired girl he still sees in his dreams, who had once confused his magic and whose hand had tingled when it had grasped his.

"Are you lost?" Guinevere asks when he offers nothing else. "It's just I've seen you pass me a few times now, and—"

Merlin holds up his list with a glum expression, and thinks he should have admitted defeat a long time ago—perhaps before he even walked out of the door. "Supplies."

Guinevere smiles kindly, like she might think that yes, this is the simpleton who she's been hearing the traders mutter about. "What are you looking for?"

"I'm not sure," he tells her honestly. He looks genuiely apologetic about it.

"Well, maybe I can help? My father is a blacksmith and he often sends me out for things that he needs. Can I…?" She nods to the parchment questioningly and reaches out.

"Why not." He hands it over all too willingly. "I'm not doing so well."

"Oh, come on now," she says as she examines Gaius' scrawl. Her eyebrows furrow. "I'm sure you are smarter than you look…" Her eyes widen as they pull away from the ink. "Um. I mean. You seem, uh…" She pulls a face. " _Sorry._ It's just—"

He can't help but smile. "I'm Merlin," he says, to save her further embarrassment, but she ducks her eyes anyway and holds the list closer to her face. "I've been sent out for supplies but, well." He waves towards the paper in his explanation, though not that Guinevere notices because she's practically hiding behind the parchment.

"It's very messy." Her voice is hesitant and slightly muffled. It takes several seconds for her to lower her hands and look at him with crippling shyness. "Did you write this?"

Guinevere _definitely_ thinks he is an idiot, and Merlin laughs like one. "No! No, Gaius did. I'm his new apprentice," he explains, as he sees interest flicker on her face when she recognises the court physician's name.

 _Apprentice_. He didn't think that he'd find himself returning to Camelot after so long, only to wander aimlessly through it searching for unnameable herbs, to serve somebody in a way he had not intended. He imagines the Druids will look disapprovingly at him and say, "This is not the destiny we foresaw, Emrys," when they discover what he is wasting his time trying to achieve, but then, he's not really sure what he _did_ expect, other than to be reunited with Gaius and (hopefully, he remembers with a sickening and sinking feeling) Arthur.

He's still worried that Arthur will not recognise him, that he has forgotten. There are ancient ones who believe that the two of them can no more easily escape one another as they can the destiny which has been written since before the first dragon spread its wings, but what _if_? Twelve years is such a long time for those who are not yet men.

"I like Gaius. He is a good man." Guinevere passes back the sheet back to him. There is still embarrassment lingering on her cheeks, and she might believe that he is stupid, but she is undoubtedly kind if a little awkward. "He doesn't suffer fools gladly."

"No," Merlin agrees, glancing down at his list.

"I didn't mean that _you_ are a fool," she insists quickly, and she looks as if she wishes to be able to take cover once again. "I only meant—"

"It's okay." It is hard not to smile with Guinevere, he realises. "He probably thinks that I am a little bit of a fool," he admits, if only to ease her worry.

"I hope you manage to find everything." Her body dips slightly in her farewell, as she is likely used to doing as a maid to royalty. "It was nice to meet you Merlin," she says, and her smile is as awkward as the rest of her as she hurries away. He can hear her muttering to herself, and smiles again.

He forces himself to carry on with his task, otherwise he knows that he will find himself following her; Guinevere will lead to Morgana, and he's eager to find somebody other than Gaius who he knows and has missed. He might have only met her only once, and his memories as a six-year-old are vague, but he has never forgotten the two who stirred his young magic more than anybody else: Morgana and Arthur.

Merlin pushes forward through the streets. The traders still turn away from him, Gaius might still be laughing in his rooms, and the morning might have long passed him by, but he only has to decide whether he has to buy agrimony or rosemary and then he can seek out the company of the only one he craves more than Morgana, Gaius or even Arthur.

Kilgharrah.


	5. V

"You're up to something," Merlin accuses as he walks into the old chambers, his bag full and coin pocket empty. Early afternoon has brought hunger and a renewed tiredness with it, after all that has happened already during his first day back in Camelot: he has saved a man from execution, almost inadvertently killed the King by doing so, and has spent hours traipsing through the market on an errand that has made as much sense to him as the renowned court physician's penmanship.

"I have no idea what you are talking about, Merlin," Gaius replies lightly, the corners of his lips twitching as he struggles to keep a straight face. "Did you find all that I asked for?"

Merlin mutters underneath his breath as he takes off his pack and hands it over, though there's a smile threatening on his own face and he's not nearly as annoyed as he was when the scowling red-haired woman refused to help.

"You were gone a long time."

"That would be your atrocious writing." Merlin takes the scrunched-up piece of parchment out of his pocket, and it lands upon one of the forever open books on the table nearby. "Everyone thinks that either I am very much the village idiot you have taken in, or that I am a wind-up merchant."

"Maybe both," Gaius suggests as he dubiously studies the contents of the pack and begins pulling out the herbs one by one. "I think you'll find that I wrote down marjoram, not mugwort. Did by any chance Balinor forget your basic education?"

"That, and a lesson on how to barter, yes," Merlin says, and Gaius' laughter finally escapes him. "It's not funny, Gaius." But he's laughing too. "One woman threatened to get one of the guards involved if I didn't leave her alone."

Gaius is still chuckling as he looks between the sage and the hyssop.

"I got one of mostly everything anyone had to offer," Merlin explains as he takes a seat at the table, weary after both a journey through the city and across many leagues before that from which he is still recovering. His eyes flicker to the room beyond the stairs which he has so far avoided, though more in thought of the bed inside following so many nights spent on the cold ground of a forest. "I must have got something right."

"Actually, the mugwort will be very useful. Did you learn anything while you were out?"

Merlin pulls a face in a way he means to say, _Should I have?_

"Are they still looking for the sorcerer?" Gaius prods with urgency, as if Merlin is being deliberately irksome. "Did they find the man who escaped his death? Come now, Merlin, you must know how useful gossiping traders can be."

"It was much the same before I found you. More guards, more people thinking they've seen something they haven't…" he replies as he turns his attention to one of Gaius' books and peers curiously at it, though it only speaks of frankincense and how to prepare an infused oil. "Apparently a light came from underneath my hood as I blackened the executioner's arm."

"The sorcerer's hood," Gaius intones.

"Well, they haven't found them, whoever it is," Merlin says with a smile.

"Yes, and let us hope that it stays that way." Gaius comes to sit on the other side of the table and folds his hands. "You must be very careful, Merlin. Camelot is much the same as it was twelve years ago. Uther has not changed. He hunts anybody who possesses even an inkling of the power you do, and persecutes anybody suspected of associating with them whether they have known it themselves or not."

"I'll be careful, Gaius," Merlin promises seriously. "Though I'd be more scared of what the Druids would have to say to me than Uther Pendragon."

"You'd be very wrong to underestimate the King, Merlin. Promise me," he begs from personal experience.

"I promise."

"Good." Gaius leans back, appeased. "Good. What else did you learn?"

"Morgana has a maid. I met her. Guinevere," he says, and Gaius nods in his recognition of the blacksmith's daughter.

"Morgana is Uther's ward now. Her father, Gorlois, if you remember, died some years after you left, and Uther promised to care for her."

"We went to his home. Gorlois. He was unwell," Merlin says slowly, sorting through the memory of meeting Morgana; everything around her was vague because he did not consider it as important as the girl who had unhinged his magic. "Wasn't he?"

Gaius nods, both seemingly pleased and surprised that Merlin remembers, but he does not know why Merlin remembers; Merlin has never shared with anyone other than his father what he felt in that house—not even Aglain, or any of the other Druids he made tentative friends with, even if they might already know about who now lives under King Uther's care. It is not his secret to share, something which Merlin understands better than most, something which he cannot risk. Morgana may not be a true friend, but she is his kin, and she is closer now than he'd first hoped.

"Are you hungry?" Gaius asks then, pushing himself away from the table. "We can eat, and you can tell me of all you have done since I last saw you."

There is not as much to tell as he thinks Gaius might hope there is, but he spotted the bread as soon as he walked into the chambers and thinks he'd make up a whole tale about wyverns if it means he can fill his stomach.

* * *

The old magic book Gaius gave him all that time ago now lays underneath the floorboards as it once did and, after staring at the bed in which his mother died for an immeasurable amount of time in a manner somebody might pay their respects, he'd unpacked his few belongings. He and Gaius had spoken for the better part of the afternoon until late in the evening, pausing only for meals and to attend to the people who came to visit the rooms. There was no sign of the King, nor Arthur, Morgana or even Gwen, and though he wished to be roaming freely throughout the castle to find them all (except Uther, that was), Merlin had missed his friend and knew that Gaius had missed him, too. The older man took delight in every word said to him, and had asked many questions which ended only when a knight came to check on him after having seen candlelight in the late hours.

Merlin creeps past the cot upon which Gaius sleeps, and once again pulls on the memories which will lead the way to Kilgharrah. It is not only his father's words which guide the way, however, for he has been taught to bend his magic to his will and stretch it across lands which have no end in sight. The song of The Great Dragon is as clear to him as Arthur's, lulling him to the depths of the castle, and it as easy to distract the knights in his way as easy as it is to summon a familiar orb of golden light in the darkness.

Kilgharrah is waiting.

The Great Dragon, poised upon a rock before the crevice from which Merlin emerges, bows to him. He stretches both body and wings long and low with a type of regality Merlin has never seen, and there is something pulling at his expression as Merlin returns the gesture. Gaius might have teased that Merlin lacked a scholar's education, but showing respect for a dragon is something he learned before he could understand the pages of the old book entrusted to him at the age of six.

"I know you, Emrys." Kilgharrah's tones are deep and oddly soothing, though fierce and unmatchable. "I have known you from the moment you took your first breath."

"And I know you, Kilgharrah," Merlin replies with a confidence that has been instilled in him by one man. The Great Dragon is unlike anything he has imagined. He is _more_. "My father speaks often of you. You are his friend."

"And he is mine." The dragon's enormous golden wings settle at his side, and his chains rattle beneath him. "I am glad to know that he still lives, and that you and I meet for the first time not as a dragon and Dragonlord but as our true selves."

Merlin has been prepared for this moment as tirelessly as his hands have been shown to carve wood or to throw up an impenetrable shield. _You alone will one day carry the ancient gift that will reside deep within your very soul, where you will find the voice that you and Kilgharrah will share_ , the echo of his father reminds, the only voice which has guided Merlin for so long. _Your soul and his are brothers, Merlin, and when you speak to him as kin he must obey your will_.

"Balinor has raised you well," Kilgharrah continues, "just as I knew that he would, but you have not yet learnt the world and all its secrets, young warlock."

"The Druids would agree with you, I think," Merlin agrees with a faint smile in the light of his floating orb. "They remind me often, even when they are not there."

"Bah." A gust of hot wind ruffles Merlin's hair. "The Druids keep so well to themselves that they have forgotten the world outside of their own."

Merlin refrains from reminding Kilgharrah of the similar isolation in which he has been kept; it would not do well to remind him of something Merlin cannot free him from, for that is his father's promise to keep, his honour to retain.

"There is much more to your destiny that even they know, Merlin. The Once and Future King is, perhaps, all they might see in the new world you will give to them. It will not be long, now." Kilgharrah's toneless hum rumbles deep within him, agreeing with his own words as he considers his next. "For one so small you have already done many great things, as you will continue to do at Arthur Pendragon's side."

 _I have to find Arthur_ _first_ , Merlin thinks. "Great things," he says. "I am the reason my mother is dead."

"So, you have been told. The old one swore that he would not, but I feared that Balinor would not speak of it either."

Merlin's eyebrows shoot up. "Old one? Not Gaius?"

"He came to me twice, when you were but a boy and saved Arthur from a terrible death. He was very annoying." Kilgharrah shakes himself, disturbing his wings, as if the thought of Gaius annoys him still. "He has not dared to seek me out since Balinor decided to take you away from Camelot, to make you a better man than you would have been if you had stayed. Albion will be even greater for what your father has done for you."

"He wanted me to tell you that he has not forgotten you," Merlin says. The message had been quite insistent, full of regret and worry. "That he is sorry you have been waiting for so long."

Kilgharrah dips his head. "I will wait. To me, time is nothing."

Merlin exhales like he has been holding a long breath. His father had warned that he might have been held to an oath which was not his to keep, but which Kilgharrah might have expected him to carry out after twenty years of being held in iron. Dragons could be fickle at the best of times, their minds a riddle and their words cryptic, and even as a Dragonlord Balinor had admitted to not knowing how Kilgharrah would have fared in his loneliness.

"Thank you. I will come again," Merlin says, knowing that soon he must return to the chambers upstairs but feeling like he could very easily spend the next twenty years of Kilgharrah's life with him. There is so much to be taught still, lessons only the dragon can give, he knows.

"I will wait," Kilgharrah says again. "I am pleased to have finally met you, young warlock. Remember, and remember well, that your gift has been given to you for a reason."

 _So everyone keeps telling me,_ he wants to reply, but Kilgharrah has already gone.

* * *

 _ _ **(The Forgotten) Disclaimer:** Merlin was (cue my massive sob) produced by Shine Television for the BBC, and belongs to creators Julian Jones, Jake Michie, Julian Murphy and Johnny Capps.__

* * *

 ** _A/N:_** _To_ _Lya200, w- easy enough, NC, mersan123, NarwhalsAreBetterThanPeople, TigerInTheMoonlight, CloudCarnivore, fairy goatmother, The Universal Saviour, Nocturnal Storyteller, Guest #1, Guest #2, Guest #3, Guest #4, rach2322 and Mel72000, thank you for each and every one of your reviews. You are top, top people, who deserve a knight on your plate._

 _To everyone who has followed and added this as a favourite, have a massive high-five and a promise that The Coming of Arthur is around a corner or two._


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